


Mon coeur (Map Of Your Head)

by bedlinens



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26587522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bedlinens/pseuds/bedlinens
Summary: Drabble that can turn into a real story if there is an audience.Post 2x05, careful for spoilers. If there are later parts posted taking into account the new episodes, there will be a warning in the header.
Relationships: The Female | Kimiko & The Frenchman, The Female | Kimiko/The Frenchman
Comments: 32
Kudos: 172





	1. Chapter 1

She checks the coordinates Chérie has given her and prepares herself for a fight. An execution, really, several at them in a row too.

She can’t help but remember the way he looked at her when he realized what she has been up to.

He was so disappointed in her. She hates that she cares. She tries to make herself believe she doesn’t, but she wouldn’t need to if she didn’t, would she?

It’s just…

Instead of entering the beauty parlour where her victims wait unknowingly for their death, she sits down not too far away.

It is like, there are three of her. She is the Female, Kimiko Miyashiro, and _mon coeur_.

Kimiko is who she was before the Shining Light Liberation Army decided to wreck her life and after they held her captive. It is her link to her late brother, who went to join their deceased parents. She never wanted to be Kimiko again; but when she saw Kenji…

She sighs. Then she is the Female, a ruthless killer, who apparently cannot really die. She has retreated into this part of her, in order to deal with the loss of her brother. She had hope before she could save him, but that bitch Stormfront just…

She can’t think about that right now, or she will go in and kill everyone and more.

Finally, she is _mon coeur_. She became _mon coeur_ when he laid eyes upon her, and saw past the violence, and the death. Everything that has happened her since she joined the Boys as they call themselves, well, she has juggled with all her personalities, but the one she kept on being, was always _mon coeur_. Even when she killed, when she mourned, when she watched TV, talked to that Supe with mindreading power. It was about all being worthy of being _mon coeur._ She used to think she had to earn it. Turns out, it is who she is for him, even when he calls her Kimiko.

That man….

He is not like any other man she has known. Sure, he’s so sociopathic but who isn’t? She remembers taking his hand after meeting Mesmer, and how it had felt like … Everything.

She thinks about him trying to kiss her as she was weeping. She doesn’t begrudge him. She would like to know why, but she knows better than to read into his actions according to what other people say you should. Sure, he was high, but… How come there is a but in her sentence?

_I don’t understand what you’re saying because you won’t teach me._

His words keep replaying in her head.

 _Fuck you. Go be a monster_.

She lets out a heavy sigh, followed by another, and then…

She wipes a tear of her face. She’s a three-faced monster.

She just wants to go back to being _mon coeur._


	2. Chapter 2

Life is a bitch and the you die.

Or your brother does.

Well, pain is the one thing you can count on.

She moves across from the Boys’ hideout and tells herself it has nothing to do with wanting to keep an eye on them, or heaven forbid, on him.

Thankfully, being the three-faced woman she is, one of her personalities always barges in and keeps the others in check. She moved where she could see them, but she didn’t go back to them because she wasn’t sure how to handle them, or Frenchie.

She tries to keep the voices to a minimum. She knows the three faced thing is just a coping mechanism. When she does something bad, she’s The Female, when she does something good, she’s Kimiko. She’s sort of always and never _mon coeur_ anymore. She used to be, even when she killed people, as Frenchie would see the humanity left in her, but nowadays, he cannot, and she doesn’t blame him.

She killed those people in the parlor. She has little to no memory of it happening. She only remembers getting money from Chérie and new coordinates. She has not gone over to do what she was sent for yet.

She hears his words in her head, at night, or when she is awake. About not telling her how to read her language.

She sighs and moves around on the rudimentary mattress she sleeps on, with one eye open of course. She misses the Boys. They were her family. However, how could anyone ever want to associate with her anymore? Sure, they did some pretty gruesome things, she has ears, but they did them out of despair. She kills because it is the only thing she knows how to do.

She forgot her writing book over at her former home. She misses it. She could have trained.

She grunts silently and forces herself to think about something else.

Air. She needs air. Those people doomed to die surely can wait a little longer.

So she goes outside, keeping her head down, avoiding cameras. She ends up in the park not too far from her new place, and her old one.

She sees a bench, pigeons, and decides to try and be normal, see if it fits her.

Unsurprisingly she is bored to tears in less than ten minutes.

Why do people do that? You’re alone, with your thoughts…. Are they all masochists?

Just when she’s about to get up and go away, she feels someone watching her, and prepare herself to fight, until she hears:

“Hey.”

Her heads snaps up and she meets Mother’s Milk’s eyes.

She has missed the towering OCD giant.

“Can I sit?” He asks, and when she does not bite, he does.

“I know I said it before, but I really am sorry about Kenji.”

His words are like knives, but truth is, the wound is still open so she just shrugs.

“We miss you, back home.”

She chuckles, remembering Butcher’s speech about how he would deal with her if she tried to save her brother. Lucky him, it was not needed.

“You would have killed Billy,” M. M. says, and she looks up at him in surprise.

“I used to watch prisoners, believe me, I may not advertise it, but reading social clues is a big part of my job. Not to mention, going to therapy with Monique…” he goes on before drifting off.

He chuckles then smiles.

“I’m sure they all know I went to couple’s therapy, but I never said it out loud. You are easy to talk to, and not just because you don’t talk back.”

She feels his pain, knowing he misses his girls every second of every day. She knows the feeling.

“We all miss you, and I mean it. You do what you need to do, but if you want back in the club, you have a chair with your name on it, or something, you get the drift.”

She wants to speak back, to give him something to soothe his everlasting ache, but she does not speak, and they don’t know how to read her speech.

“I’m not going to do you the affront of trying to levy Frenchie’s pain and make you come back. He is a weird fucker, he probably deserves what he’s feeling.”

She growls.

“Or maybe not,” M. M.’s amends, “but that’s between you two.”

She looks at him, and wants to change subject. She pretends to be scribbling something down, and he gets what she means.

“Your writing book? I can bring it, for sure, but I mean no offence, Kimiko, but do you read English? I noticed you needed one of us to tell you what you were writing down when you started forming words.”

He is not wrong. She can read some things, but not a lot. Same goes in Japanese. She’s illiterate, and feels shame admitting it, which she hates. When she was learning, with the man she does not want to think about, but damn there he is again, she felt like she was becoming more powerful.

“If you were a prisoner and we were not neck deep in all that fuckery, I would have you listen to the Harry Potter audio books and try to identify words with a book copy. I know you can read some, and I am no schoolteacher but for you it could have been a good way to help you fill in the gaps and become more proficient.”

She notices how he does not mention her impediment or the fact that his daughter is probably much more advanced than she is at those things. That’s M. M. for you. He likes to control things, but he also has a heart too big for his own good.

Her heart feels like it’s been shattered to a thousand pieces, and there’s no gluing them back together.

Carefully, he advances a hand and put it on top of hers, as if feeling her pain. He probably can, she feels like she’s radioactive with it.

“I’ll get you your writing book, okay? Just give me ten minutes.”

And he is gone.

She looks for patterns in the way people move. She identifies stress, pretense when some are running but are really looking for partners. She sees some desperate mothers ready to toss their babies in the river, and she wants to tell them… It will be alright.

That‘s what he told her.

That what she is telling herself every day, because you have to go on living, even you actively try to get yourself killed at the same time.

Strange slip, she thinks.

And then:

“Hey!”

It’s Petit Hughie. His smile is all tooth, and she cannot help but give him a small grin in return.

“I miss you, Kimiko,” he says, and she gestures for him to sit down.

“I wish I could but Annie needs me. M. M. asked me to bring you those,” he says before showing her two items.

One is her writing book, and the other is a phone.

“He asked me to upload the Harry Potter’s books on it. You can start listening. The first one starts with “The Dursley were very normal, thank you very much” or something like that. You’ll love it.”

She wants to say or sign something, but he wouldn’t understand, so she just nods in a thanking manner.

“Frenchie misses you like you’re his better half, and I really mean better half. You heard of Aristotle? Probably not… He used to say that men at the origin of days were made of two heads four legs fours arms, you get the gist. Then they were split apart, and you look for your other half the rest of your life. It doesn’t mean you’re in love or something, I would never assume anything,” he starts saying very fast, even though she can tell that Aris-what’s-his-name? probably intended it to be romantic. “I just think that you were keeping him grounded, that the guy I met and the guy you met were two different persons. But Hell, he’s not your responsibility. Just come home, okay? I miss you.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

She goes back to her hiding place.

So there were two Frenchies? She cannot help but chuckle. He’s one personality behind.

She opens her scribbling book and is about to use the pen they left in it, when she notices a handwriting she knows by heart.

She sucks at reading, writing, let alone speaking, but there are two words written at the top of the page, among others she can’t read.

_Mon Coeur_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for your support! I really appreciate it.  
> For now, it's going to be drabbles, and there will be a reunion, but as some of you have noted, I want to focus on Kimiko. I would love nothing more than for her to run back to Frenchie and have his babies in Marseille, but that is not how life works, even in a world of corporate superheroes....
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts though!
> 
> I wrote this quickly I'll admit, because I don't know what curveball Friday's episode will throw at me, so I wanted to move forward with what I had envisionned before knowing if I could mebrace canon or have to diverge from it.
> 
> I talk a lot. Sorry. Please R&R!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEAVY SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 2x06  
> You've been warned.  
> Run for your life if you haven't seen it. Please do. See it and come back.  
> I repeat, SPOILERS
> 
> I hope this is clear enough

She looks at the « bossy » ring, and for some reason, it seems like the most important thing in the world.

She got back to her place, as shitty as it is, because she couldn’t stay near him, and deal with what he had said.

He was such…. A man. And she does not mean that in a good way. All her life, men had decided what she would do, and what she would be. They had made her a hostage, a soldier, a monster. He had made her an angel in need of redemption. She wishes he hadn’t, but she cannot lie to herself, she deserves better.

Yet, and she hates herself for thinking so, she sort of understands where he is coming from, doing this. He is not being a dick who thinks women are helpless and you need to chose for them, otherwise you’ll be waiting a very long time. No, she stumbled upon his path at some point where he was looking for redemption, and she needed support. He understood her, like no one had before, not even her brother.

He had been able to read her when she had been dead inside, and he had brought life back into her. She owes him her fighting spirit. When she gave him the finger what seems like decades earlier, it had been his doing.

She remembers the sense of extraordinary normalcy she had felt when they were on the run, and he had decided to teach her how to make madeleines.

“Proust, a great yet very boring writer, French obviously,” he had then told her, “had a moment in one of his way too long books, where he explained that by taking a bite of a madeleine, he was reminded of smells and he reminisced about his childhood.”

He was showing her how to fold the mix together, and she had concentrated on his words more than on his demonstration, because when he talked, she just had to listen. He was talking to her, not at her, and it was the best feeling in the world.

“Nowadays,” he went on ”we French, as the fuckers pompous asses we are, and we have a right to be, mind you, we will say that something is our “madeleine de Proust”, it is even described as psychological phenomenon in French medicine. I just like baking them. You can make some great hasch ones too. “

She had smiled and grabbed the “maryse”, as he called the spatula, before doing as she had been told.

She breathes in. This is her fucking madeleine de Proust, and she is not French. However, when she thinks about it, she can smell the flour, the light sweat on his skin because he has been battling with a very large batch of mix, before standing in front of the oven for twelve minutes and forty-five seconds at a time, because it was his best estimate on how long they needed in the oven.

She is also overwhelmed by feelings, emotions, the whole she-bang. She remembers this warmth in her belly, this sense of belonging, first of all with him, but perhaps with the rest of them. Even without closing her eyes, she can see herself folding the mix the wrong way, with this strange thing happening in her, which she later identified as domesticity.

Trust her to find this triumphant emotion in the middle of a shitstorm.

_What makes you think I want to be left of the hook, uh?_

Reality kicks back in. Same players, her, him and M. M., Butcher doing whatever in the background.

Except he confessed things.

That is the point of confession, she gets it, but she needs time to grapple with what was said, and how to label it.

He left Lamplighter to go save his best friend, with Chérie giving him a hell of a time, all short but calling him a traitor to their little family.

Is it wrong that she hates the woman? Yes, it is, she did not know him back then, and as a boy deprived of a family, of course he would try to form one, to have what eluded him. At the end of the day though, without pretending to understand how invested in it was the brunette, the Female of the Species felt like she could go to town on the blue-eyed girl.

She, Kimiko, the Female, _mon coeur_ , has seen his anguish. He was never fine with anything, torn between two families, his first one he had made a deal to save, and the second he found himself reluctantly fitting in.

Chérie had told Frenchie that she was no kitten, and there is a fire in her belly which wants to go show the woman how she roars.

But to what end? It is just projection.

She wants to roar at herself.

Chérie is an easy pick.

 _I leave you alone_.

What a bunch of patronizing bullshit. And yet, it hurts like hell.

If he could read her signs, she would ask, _what if I don’t want to be left alone, uh?_ Not to mock him and his confession to M. M. but to appeal to his own feelings and help him connect with her.

They are disconnected, have been for some time. He would have helped and hid her brother. He has this bottomless empathy skill in him, a weakness for people in their line of work which he often turns into a strength, or just deals with the pain.

She needs to deal. She knows she cannot do it on her own. But where they are now, is this the point of no-return, the moment when she must concede that she has missed the right time?

Her mourning respects no calendar, and she will not apologize for that.

Still.

Damnation.

Hell, whatever you want to say.

She looks at her fingers, at her nail polish. Her hands run in her hair, straight, comber, neat. Just before Kenji had reemerged, she had started feeling like a woman. She does not know why it matters so much that she keeps those rituals on going. She is a woman. The Female of the Species.

He never called her _mon coeur_.

What a strange thought, but you cannot put the cat back in the bag.

When she went that morning to the hideout, he never called her by his pet name. He held her hand while she was hearing Stormfront and she was hit by waves of trauma. Near the ambulance, he had set her free, had said in substance that he would not shame her anymore for doing what she wanted to do, but there had been no _mon coeur_.

She wipes tears, forming in her eyes. She sees her writing book, and the next coordinates for the Albanian mob.

She tries to keep her head clear, but it is easier said than done. She grabs all her stuff, and before she knows it, she is stepping down the stairs back to the hideout. Mother’s Milk says nothing, but smiles. She does not see Frenchie. She goes back to what she needs to do.

She goes to his sleeping quarters.

Well, it is theirs, or it’s theirs, again. When he saved her and tried to help her, she could not sleep away from him. She did not sleep in his bed, or he in hers, but they always found a way. It was hard to explain. If they only had one mattress, they would manage to make it theirs, each having a side. She needed to know he was there, and she believes now he needed to know the same about her. When the pallet was too small, she would sleep on the furniture, like a cat, out of touch but never out of sight.

She puts her things in his space. If he does not like it, he will have to acknowledge it and her.

Finally, she goes near where she can hear a TV on.

He is watching that show about the old ladies in New York.

She drops on the couch, and he would have jump if he weren’t high.

She can see he is just anesthetized himself enough to cut the pain, but he still feels things clearly enough.

He gives her a look, like he worries he has messed up his dosage.

She points to her ring, that ugly thing she bought on a whim and shows him the word it displays, before pointing to herself.

He has this sweet smile of his, where only a corner of his mouth lifts up, but his eyes do the smiling.

“You are very bossy indeed. I can leave you the TV.”

There’s a million things she could do to stop him from leaving, but she feels this need in her belly. So she removes the ring, and she searches for his hand. She does not grab it, but their fingers are a hare’s breadth apart. He looks at her thoroughly, and she realizes he is drinking in her presence, same she is with his, as they have not had a non-belligerent moment for so long. She scooches over, near him, almost touching but not quite.

"It was nice of you to welcome Starlight like you did," he says and she can hear the envy he feels or that he felt when she hugged the young woman.

So many things that needs fixing, her relationship with the blonde is one of the few pure things in her life as of now.

But as far as he is concerned... She needs to act. 

She pulls out Chérie’s paper, and his eyes widens.

She uses his lighter to put it on fire, letting it get consumed on a dish before them.

She feels his body relax, and she wants to do what is right, and not just what she needs. He is in pain, and she has this primal need to come to him.

Kiimiko, Female of the Species, feels this need.

He is of her species.

“No more hits?” He asks.

She shakes her head no.

“Your choice?”

She growls at him, for daring insinuate that she could be doing this for him. Such a man. She is doing it for herself. Sure, she needs to do it in front of him because his opinion matters, but…

The tip of his fingers brushes hers, and her anger takes a step back.

She really needs to find a new way to communicate with him, he cannot believe he is the reason behind her every decision.

“Do you know what _mon coeur_ means?”

She sorts of does, but she wants him to keep talking.

He looks at their hands like he cannot meet her eyes, and explains:

“It means you are my heart, as in you are the reason I am alive, my beating heart.”

Damn it, he is going to make her cry. She is trying to make a statement.

And a statement she makes, when she puts her head on his shoulder, letting him cautiously loosely wrap his arm around her, as they both deal with events of the past twenty-four hours.

_His beating heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I crammed al lot more in this piece, and I would love to hear your thoughts. I have no guidelines, I am writing my interpretation of what I watched, what the woman in me saw, the shipper as well. I also have some thoughts due to my job description. I would like to know if you are with me or if I've lost you.
> 
> Please, read and review, it really means a lot! It helps me keep on writing, even when I should be doing something more productive...


	4. Chapter 4

She wakes up on his mattress. She knows it is his not just because she has seen him crash on it, but because it smells like him. People often boast, when you lose a sense, the other sharpens. She does not know which sense could be associate with her vocal predicament, but she has got a damn good nose.

That is how she was able to bake some madeleine of her own that one day, but he never made it home, too busy running his business with the French mob from downtown New York. She does not blame him. They all need to do stuff. They are so not out of the woods.

Funny, considering she has not been out seen, well, since she was a little girl watching her parents die in front of her.

Ugh, she needs new memories, and a way to deal with her latest ones, she thinks as the ache for her brother hits her once she has woken up enough to miss him.

She buries her nose in his pillow, and she just allows herself to drift, swim in it and leave her pain for a short time. Kenji would understand.

She finally gets up, and is greeted by M. M. who informs her that Frenchie went to buy some groceries for breakfast, and the way he looks at her suggests if not simply enunciates that he suspects the Frenchman went out for her. She gives him a smile and allows him to pat her hand as he says she has been missed at home.

She gets out in turn and goes for an errand of her own. When she comes back, she feels the need to hide what she stole from a store (come on what was she supposed to do? They are wanted, she just cannot go to the counter and actually purchase things, knowing there will be a camera pointed at her waiting to discover where they are all hiding).

Finally, she sees him.

She thinks stupid, cheesy things, playing on her nickname as the Female of the species, declining it accordingly to fit him.

Why yes, thank you for asking, she has recovered her inner girl, the one she never got to be.

He is making… pancakes? No, _crèpes_! She should know better than to mix those two up. He looks at her and meets her eyes, and she is lucky she does not do the whole blushing thing otherwise she would be peach-colored.

“ _Mon coeur_!” He says upon spotting her, and there should be a law against the party going on in her chest at the sound of those two words.

Finding out she can act like a girl, like a woman, really, should not make her feel all of this. It is absolutely inappropriate; she is in mourning. She keeps telling that to her beating heart.

 _My beating heart_ …

That was what he said he meant when he called her those two words. The reason he is alive.

For Pete’s sake, get a grip, she tells herself.

Where is she at in her menstrual cycle, she asks herself, before chastising the thought. She needs to find more women to hang out with, she is picking up their bad habits, such as blaming any emotional move on her part on hormones.

Besides, she has been period-free since…

It has been a long time. Then again, she was a prisoner, whether in the Philippines or in the USA. Prisoners tend to skip some if not all hormonal cycles.

She looks back at him and gives him her best half-smile. It’s not that he does not deserve a full one, it just is not… them.

“M. M. told me you left, but I hoped you’d be back. I made _crèpes!”_ He explains as he puts one on a plate, and pushes it toward her, before coming to stand just next to her.

She can feel his body heat.

He shows her options, jam, sugar, lemon, Nutella, to go on top of that feast and shows her then how to fold it the proper “French way”. She is quite certain it is more likely the Frenchie way.

“My stomach hurts,” he explains, as if he needs to justify himself. “Too much drug, not enough food. I thought you might want to try one. You have not been eating properly lately.”

She gives him a look, and he smirks as he says:

“Of course I know that, I was not the one cooking your meals, _non_? Then you ate crap.”

She wants to scold him but ends up silently laughing as she shakes her head.

They eat in silence, and she gets a second helping and a third. He seems intent on making up for all the meals they spent apart. It was not his fault. How to make him understand? That is the million-dollar question.

 _If you were not so keen on being a criminal, we should sign you up for MasterChef_ , she wants to say, but alas, she cannot.

She helps him do the dishes, and he lays out some leftover for M. M.

They end up in his – her -their? Room.

“You fell asleep like a log, and I was still under, so I put you here,” he explains again.

She hates the fact that he feels like he needs to justify and have a good reason for everything he does

She misses simpler time, when she would draw over and over the same picture, and he was just… okay with it. Being self-aware bring sone too many serious shit.

Finally, she puts out one of her purchase, and he looks at it bewildered when she drops it in his hands.

“Harry Potter?” He asks, half wincing, half smirking but completely assholishly, when he reads the cover.

She rolls her eyes and take the books away from him.

She tries to remember the words in her head.

She has listened so often to the first book on the phone Hughie and Mother’s Milk made for her, she figured it could work. She finds the number for the chapter and then counts the words as she recites the text in her head. She looks at the page, trying to put the letters together to form the word she thinks they should form. Yes, that’s it.

She hands the book over to him, noting that he has been silent the whole time, in expectation of what she had planned.

She pushes the book toward him, then point at the word she has identified.

“Class?” He reads out loud, and she nods forcefully before almost closing the book and asking him to look at her.

So, she is not unresponsive under his gaze. Old news. She ponies up and signs the word.

She has to do it a couple of time, pointing at the word on the page, then doing the gesture, when he suddenly exclaims:

“You are going to teach me your language with this”

She nods again, her heart beating a hundred miles an hour.

He looks… Like Christmas has come early, and he gets his presents for the rest of his life all at once. It is everything she hoped it would be, before his face darkens and he shakes his head no, before giving her back the book.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to. It was your brother and your thing. I don’t want to intrude.”

Trust him to be a gentleman at the one time when he doesn’t need to.

She likes his gentlemanliness, the way he is with her, with reverence and devotion, but now is not the time.

She wants to cross her arm in front of her chest, since body language would suggest she is serious, but she thinks of something much simpler.

She points to that stupid ring she is still wearing.

“Bossy,” he says laughing. “Ok, teach me.”

They do a couple of words, such as please, and thank you, and she feels like a new woman, as she is able to sign simple things and he understands them.

Suddenly he says:

“Wait, why Harry Potter?”

They are not far enough into his learning for her to say, and she feels distress.

He puts his hand under her chin, and she leans in, looking at him as he says, his eyes widening:

“Look at me, _mon coeur_ , I did not mean it like that. It’s just, it’s a kid book. How will I learn the adult words? Such as _séductrice_ or sexy, or body parts?”

She laughs before grabbing the book and finding one of the rare words she knows how to identify.

He reads it out loud:

“Later. Damn, I am loving those lessons, and I can’t wait for the advanced class! I’m going to ace this thing!”

His smile is like the sun rising on the world. It’s perfect, and even though you can expect it, it’s still one of the most precious things she will ever see.

Thank God she can’t blush. She would be crimson at the thought of teaching him “adult words”.

“What if I write them down and you can show me?” He asks, half-jokingly, and she can see the mixed emotions in his eyes.

He’s joking, yet somewhat serious, but most importantly, afraid he will have gone too far.

Yeah, she can read all of that in his eyes. Only a doofus would thing all there is to him is what you see.

She points to that word again, with resolve, and a smile.

“Later,” he reads again. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

She doesn’t mind. One. Bit.

Vocabulary for this chapter:

séductrice: seductress, but I guess you could spot it from context and the fact that it's the same wor in both languages. I just wanted to start inserting some French, _à la Frenchie_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please review.
> 
> I'm dreading what happens next on the show, so I would really appreciate some support. t I worry this might be all there is to that story, f the show goes in a complete direction. Or I could go AU. Only f people are reading though (though this is in no way a threat, I hate when authors do that, I'm expressing legit concern)...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just insights about Frenchie's frame of mind, will go back to Kimiko's POV. I needed abreather after this week's episode

What people don’t tell you about growing up and being an adult is how difficult it will be to have your voice heard, even when it’s just you and one or two other persons.

Serge aka Frenchie knows it all too well.

It is not his accent or his lack of mastery over the language, non, it’s people wanting to label him this way or another.

He doesn’t begrudge M. M. and Butcher, as he told them, he never wanted to be off the hook.

However, he acknowledges that he should have fought harder to not be labelled as he was, but he did not think it mattered back then.

It matters now.

More than ever.

Chérie was right, Kimiko was not a kitten in a tree, she is a tigress, a lioness, not a monster, oh non, never a monster. She is the most incredible feline he has ever met in his life.

Her devotion to her family breaks his heart as he knows the pain it brings her, and he also knows that she would put her life on the line for any one of the boys. She is independent but fiercefully loyal.

She is a wounded animal, but she agreed to let him close in order to provide her help to close her wounds. It really is not about fixing her wounds for her, it is about helping her, holding her hand if she wants to, and being there for her when she needs it.

Maybe they’re not so different. He remembers this story about a lioness adopting an antelope, and other one doing so with a deer. He wonders if he or she qualifies as the matriarchal animal.

She is not adopting him, but she is letting him in, he thinks, as he lays on the mattress, his eyes looking at the ceiling.

She’s there, next to him, sitting as she listens to the Harry Potter book again.

If he had thought a weird British wizard would bring him so much joy, he would have thought he was high as a kite, and his interlocutor too.

They’ve gone over the basics and have started dipping their toes further in what her speech is.

It is mind blowing. He feels like he is the keeper of the most important secret on Earth.

Maybe he is.

He joked about wanting to know the “adult” words as he called them, and they’re learning some.

He realized that she did not have words or gestures for every concept. They invent some when they are really needed, otherwise, they use periphrasis, an art the French have truly mastered. He first focused on learning how to read her, and then she gestured for him to do the same.

He was allowed to use her tongue. What he felt then… No words, nor gesture could express it. The closest he could come too would be something along the lines of having won the lottery but the metaphor is poor, doesn’t do what is happening justice.

If she keeps teaching more and more words, and he keeps on understanding the logics behind the way she organizes her sentence, he’ll be able to speak to her without a word.

No high can top that, and he should know, having experimented with everything and some.

That woman…

Petit Jésus.

He wanted to save her, but she saved him. She did not redeem his sins, but she offered him a new chance at life, at getting it right this time, at being that boy who still loved his father even when he cried for his mother. Having emotions are not a weakness, and he cherishes what she makes him feel.

He can tell she is starting to fall asleep, because her hold on the phone is getting more relaxed. She is also turning his way, on the mattress, and he wonders what he did to deserve it, before forgetting about that. Fuckers who ponder too much miss their chances at happiness.

He says:

“ _Mon coeur_ , you should turn off the phone, and get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow, with the colonel.”

She only nods, her eyes closed, and he takes care of shutting the phone. She signs:

“Thank you”

He grabs the blanket at the bottom of the bed and puts it on top of her.

She struggles at first, then inches closer to him.

He can feel her heat and it’s like being in the presence of a star.

How he missed her face, and everything about her while she was on her mission.

He barely slept, too worried but not man enough to try and understand.

He does now. Facing Lamplighter was a step he never thought he could take but when offered a chance, he went with it and with everything it meant. Admitting his guilt, his mistake, his years of carrying with him everywhere the sin of knowing saving his best friend meant killing two innocent children.

As if sensing his train of thoughts, she inches closer again, and their hands are almost touching

This unspoken connection… It’s priceless.

The tip of her fingers brush against his, and she closes in on his.

Sleep overtakes him, “ _le sommeil du juste_ », or the « just man’s sleep”, meaning he sleeps like one who knows he has done right and can sleep soundly, because everything he needs is right there.

Two words linger on his lips, words he speaks often but mean every time.

_Mon coeur._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Read and Review, it means a lot


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE SPOILERS FOR THE SEASON FINALE.  
> I REPEAT, HUGE SPOILERS. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED

You can encounter love in a multitude of ways.

Same goes for family.

The two don’t have to go hand in hand, but she is lucky enough that for her, it does.

She remembers Frenchie telling her that he built his own family upon arriving in the States, with Chérie and Jay, and she understands the urge. When she met the boys, once the fear had evaporated, they started becoming her family.

And then she was reunited with Kenji. Those two families and the love she felt for both should have been contradictory, but she truly believed they would not have been, if not for that nazi bitch.

She wishes her little brother could have seen it the way she did, but regrets will get you nowhere except in Hell.

So she isolated herself for a while, because the love she was offered by the boys (not Butcher, but she did not mind) was too overwhelming for a woman who had lost her last blood relative.

And then…

Meeting Becca, definitely a moment of eye-opening clarity. The woman was a mom, through and through, also a wife, and a sister, and a daughter. There were no conflicts between all her identities, and the way she saw herself.

She remembers looking at the woman like she was a deity, and in a sense, she was, having been put justifiably on a pedestal by Butcher, even when she kicked him out.

So there she was, in this big incestuous family, with Mother’s Milk, Hughie, Becca, Butcher and Frenchie. M. M. is the mother hen, Hughie the younger brother who surprises you but you can’t help but want to protect. Frenchie is… the one who brings you to meet his family, and you end up bounding with them all. Butcher revealed himself to be the older brother everyone has got issues with, but still love deeply.

Love.

Family.

She found herself a member of a sorority, another family of its kind, when it comes time to fight Stormfront, and it’s the three of them, Starlight, Maeve and her kicking her white supremacist ass.

There was a common purpose of course, but also, recognition in each other’s eyes. They were not just gaging up on someone who absolutely deserved it, they showcased each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and had each other’s back.

Talk about empowering. The Female of the Species fighting along good people, like she deserved to…

Don’t think for a second the boys are not good people, because they are, it just felt like she was being given a privilege, and sometimes she did not know how to earn it even though they kept on giving so freely.

With those two badasses women, she found another family, crossing her other ones. Maeve had spoken with them for a hot minute before flying to go after Homelander, but she had given Kimiko that look, which said “I am you and you are me.”

Breathtaking, it truly is breathtaking how someone acknowledging you can feel so right.

So there she is, with various families to choose from, except you don’t need to choose, all of them can accommodate the others.

When she laughed out loud, and told Frenchie what the truth was, it had been freeing. The pride in his eyes upon recognizing what she was saying, it was only matched by the kindness he had expressed before when she had been worried about freezing again. Another person she is blessed with having on her side, who belongs to multiple familial circles she is creating around herself.

When she had met his eyes, after her neck had snapped and she had come back from the dead, there was this world he keeps offering her and she is always too shy to take.

No more.

Family and love… She feels sisterly love for the boys. She feels kinship and belonging with the super girls. She knew once daughterly love, and maybe in a weird crazy way, Butcher is not a brother, but maybe a father figure who did not know you existed, and is super flaky, but when he is here for you, he will go the extra thousand mile for you.

She feels “love” love for Frenchie, and she knows he feels it back.

It should have been plain as day the first time he ever called her _mon coeur._

It was not the right time, that came later.

The right time is now.

He has one hand on a driving wheel, as they sit in a truck. They just got her paper from the CIA, and they’re free.

He’s taking her dancing.

He keeps smiling, and she has to smirk back.

His hand is on the stick shift, and she grabs it, as he is not changing gears and won’t be for a chile.

He gives her another one of those smiles, like the one he kept smirking when he would translate for the others what she was saying. She let him in, and he knows how scary it was for her. He will never break her heart.

Never.

“Careful what you sign up for, _mon coeur¸”_ he says, “one does not take Frenchie’s hand and expect to be just friends.”

She chuckles, and the sound delight both their ears.

She cannot sign back, she wants his eyes on the road, so she just put her head on his shoulder, and he places a kiss there.

“I really look forward to being an old man, Serge Miyashiro, who has daughters and sons who can lift him over their head like he weighs nothing.”

She throws her head back, and laughs again, before punching him in the ribs.

You make your own families, and you find the love you can.

It’s not up to you to decide whether you are worth it or not, you just need to cherish it, roll in it, have the best time possible.

For once, she knows who she is.

She is the Female of the Species.

She is Kimiko.

She is his beating heart.

She does not need to choose; she can be all three.

All three answer to a single name, uttered by this wonderful man: _Mon Coeur._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, I believe this is the end of this story, but not the end of my writings. You can leave me suggestions for things you'd like to see explored, here or on tumblr, at persephone-proserpine https://persephone-proserpine.tumblr.com/ask
> 
> I dreamed a couple of nights ago about Kimiko being part of the Seven, I don't know whjat I want to do with this idea. I'm looking for AU ideas to keep me writing too.
> 
> Anyway, please leave a word, it means the world, and thank you for being amazing!

**Author's Note:**

> I would really like to hear your thoughts and see if there is a potential here.  
> In my head, I have a story planned. I am French, which doesn't me I understand all of Frenchie's motives, but I think I could do a good job of writing me in character vis-à-vis well, being French. I also am a gender specialist, meaning I had to deal with studying Kimiko-like stories.  
> It looks like I'm bragging, what it really shows is how insecure I am about this because I want so badly to do them justice.  
> So please, if you could read more of this, then leave a word!


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